


weaving the storied webs

by kim_onka



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Spiritual, Valie, the Weaver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 10:08:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3406721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kim_onka/pseuds/kim_onka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tracing their way through Time with her fingers, Vairë weaves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	weaving the storied webs

.

She is Vairë the Weaver who sits by Námo's side, and her tapestries adorn the Halls of Mandos.

.

(The patterns, the tales, the images; the happiness, the sorrow, the waves of Time; Vairë weaves.)

.

Eä is a song vibrant, bursting with ripe notes of their Music, and it is her who lifts them carefully, allows them to run between her fingers smoothly; and as the sounds ring out and fade into silence she weaves them into her tapestry, their tones not lost, their place in the theme of the World preserved.

.

(Everything there Is, Vairë weaves; hers is the memory.)

.

It is lives she weaves, lives of the World and its Children; of the Firstborn, their threads long and resilient, closely intertwined with the motifs that make Arda, flowing easily among its other strands; of the Adopted, their fibres finite and hardy, running like seams of metal deep in the pattern; and of the Secondborn, their veins short and fragile, and wild, ever distinct against the background of Creation, in discord with the World itself by the strange gift bestowed upon them.

.

(Vairë weaves, but it is them who spin the threads; and sometimes, as she walks along the Halls, she leads a lost fëa to a tapestry and says, quietly, _Look, little one. Look._ )

.

It is history she weaves, choices and deeds, valiant and vile; too many threads has she seen end in crimson, torn and frayed; too many bright filaments darken and twist beyond recognition, betraying promises of splendor.

.

(Both light and darkness Vairë weaves, at times sharp against each other, at others merging, blurring into shadows.)

.

It is truth she weaves, truth of hearts, truth behind lies, clear and piercing and bare in light and in darkness alike.

.

(Her heart aches as Vairë watches the broken Children, still her hands are steady as she traces their way through Time with her fingers.)

.

The patterns mix and distort, marred at Time's dawn; yet there is beauty in them, beauty beyond words, and Vairë weaves the World to place it Ilúvatar's feet, at the end of all things.

.


End file.
